Synonymous to None
by aloneinabigemptyspace
Summary: “What we had was a crazy and twisted sort of love.”


Title: Synonymous to None  
Author: Ashley  
Summary: "What we had was a crazy and twisted sort of love."  
Spoilers: None  
Classification: Vignette  
Disclaimer: Dick Wolf, Wolf Productions, and NBC Studios own the entire SVU squad. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Rating: R  
Feedback: is wonderful! However, flames will be delightfully deleted.  
Distribution: Contact me first.  
Author's Notes: A huge thanks to Cabenson for beta-ing this. You're beautiful, dear. :)

* * *

It is nearly the dead of night, and I'm still here. I sent Elliot home hours ago, finally convincing the workaholic in him that he had a family that cared for him. That should not have been as hard as it was. He already knows that they wait late nights for him to come home. Before he left the threshold of the squad room, I felt the burn of his eyes as he looked back at me and threw a tired "See ya n'mornin', Liv" over his shoulder. It took all the willpower I had to keep my thoughts concentrated on the paperwork in front of me.

Munch left soon after Elliot, tossing out a quip about his tired, old body needing to rest. Fin retorted with something about Munch's bony ass needing to go somewhere. At that point, I wasn't really listening to anything around me; normally at this time of night, there's nothing left to listen to.

So here I am, not listening to myself rustle through papers and jot down the notes that, in reality, resemble chicken scratch. Cragen comes out of his office, and nearly commands Fin and I to catch a few in the crib if we're going to be here all night. We kind of shrug him off, and he leaves.

I work for another ten minutes before I send a glance in Fin's direction. He catches it, and nods his head in response. He begins to put away his supplies. He grabs his coat, folds it over his arm, and nods to me once more before leaving.

Yeah, I got the message.

I'm leaving this squad room in eleven minutes.

Very slowly, I start getting myself together to leave. Although this has become an old habit for me, my body doesn't register the anticipation that going to Fin's once held. I need this though. He needs it as well, which is why we continue to do this. It's a release, and it's a safe release. It's a safe haven because we aren't in love with each other and we aren't partners.

Better yet, we understand each other. We see the same gruesome horrors day after day. It's that one piece of knowledge that makes it easy for us to do this.

Tonight will be a repeat of countless nights that we've shared in roughly three years. Our ritual is damn near scripted, and neither of us misses a line. Fin and I wait for our respective partners and co-workers to leave. Anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes after everybody has left, we share a silent look; it's our code for "I'll see you in eleven minutes."

Eleven minutes. Such a random number.

During the course of the night, I arrive at his apartment, and the door is left unlocked for me. I step into the living room, and Fin delves ferociously into my mouth. Almost as a retort, I pull his ponytail out and let my fingers roam his scalp. We then proceed to do what I like to call "comfort fucking." Crude phrase, but it works.

We lose ourselves in the bedroom. The case that we're working on flies out of the window that Fin always leaves slightly ajar. All of the frustrations that life has to provide for us are left out in the hallway outside of Fin's door. All that exists for us in those precious moments are skin on skin, thrust meeting thrust.

We don't speak, not in the squad room, not in the bedroom. The only words that are spoken are when I go to leave just before daybreak.

"See you soon," I say to his sleeping body, dark hair framing his exhausted face. And that's all we really need.

Now that I think about it, I think I may be the only person in this squad room who has seen Fin with his hair down, not kept in his neat ponytail. It's not exactly something I'm proud of, but it's not something I'm not proud of either.

Even so, what Fin and I have is a weird, crazy, twisted, nonsensical sort of love. But then, can I even begin to call what we have "love?" We fuck because we need it. It's not so much based upon friendship or our status as soul mates. It's not based on if we see eye to eye in the workplace, because Lord knows we don't. Our comfort fucking rests solely upon the fact that we are two people who possess a need for release.

I mean, I love everybody with whom I work and I would put my life on the line if it would spare their own. Cragen for being a closest thing to a father figure for me. Munch for providing me a laugh or even an inward smile, especially when it's needed. Fin for allowing me to partake in the things that we do. Elliot.

Elliot. Now there's a conundrum just staring me in the face. However, I think I figured out the answer to my riddle about three weeks ago. Oddly enough, Fin has known the solution for years.

I would always wonder why after having sex, Fin would unconsciously stroke my hair once, then pull his hand back abruptly after realizing his mistake. Simply put, my body belongs to Fin, but my heart is in Elliot's possession.

I think that, in Fin's mind, knowing that piece of information will keep him from turning what we already have into an entity that really isn't there. In the end, it will keep him from getting his heart broken. All this because his fuck-buddy is in love with somebody that she can't have.

Thankfully, the level of commitment that exists on both ends of this relationship is low enough that outsiders would begin to question it. To Fin and I though, it's easier that way.

However, I feel as though something is going to change tonight. I hope and pray that it doesn't, because I need this. I need this release badly.

My paperwork is now piled neatly on one end of my desk and everything else is put away. I look at the clock on the wall once more, and just as I expected, eleven minutes has passed.

I get up from my desk and walk to the coat rack. It's not that cold out tonight, so I mimic Fin and fold my coat over my arm. I skim over my desk one more time, just to ensure that everything is in its right place.

Because if something between Fin and I goes wrong tonight, I need something to be right when I arrive to work in the morning.

* * *

end 


End file.
